Like So Many Memories
by Mirwalker
Summary: A starship and its crew stumble into two old Klingon conflicts-one personal, one dynastic-with life-changing consequences for all. Set TOS era, but all OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this story in the late 1980s as a means of explaining, in narrative fiction, the change in status of a Star Trek fan club in which I was involved in high school. For a variety of reasons, mostly an increase in membership, our local chapter (or "ship"), the _Viking_, was upgraded within the international organization. This involved a change in name (to a new, larger "ship," the _Citadel_), as well as some crew changes as some members left the chapter during the transition. We had all maintained some fictional character personae as part of our involvement; this story explained the changes from within the universe of those characters. This story is dedicated to the many good people and friends from the _Viking_ and _Citadel_ years._

* * *

Earlier generations described the stars as "twinkling"; but it was a proven fact that the stars shone constantly; the "twinkling" was simply atmospheric refraction.

Lieutenant Commander Ed Gosnell, Acting Commanding Officer and Chief of Operations aboard the Federation starship _USS Viking_, was not watching the stars. He was staring blankly at the "twinkling" displays at the ever-active Science station. On and off, on and off, continuing to scan the edge of the Triangle as they had been for two long, uneventful weeks. What he wouldn't give for a little excitement.

Wish granted...

"Commander," cried the Klingon at the Tactics station, "sensors showing a small object emerging from Klingon space into the Triangle. Wait... It is now heading for the Federation border."

Snapped to alertness, the Acting Commanding Officer whirled to face his Chief of Security. "Can you identify or classify it, Mr. Kraal?"

"No, sir," replied the stoic Lieutenant. "It is not very large --slightly smaller than one of our probes. It does not, however, conform to any known probe configuration."

"Hypothesis, Lieutenant?"

Without looking up from his console, the Klingon responded, "It could be some type of new Klingon probe; but it doesn't look like any Klin designs I've ever seen."

Suddenly active like the rest of the bridge crew, Chief of Sciences David Robinson added, "It is emitting sensory-type waves. I believe it is scanning..."

"...Or running!" shouted Kraal. "A Klingon L-24 Battleship and one D-7S Cruiser passing Klingon border, and are following probe's course. They are scanning it heavily." The first hint of his fierce warrior emotions gleamed through the Klingon's StarFleet Training.

"Targeting it?" queried the CO.

"I don't believe so. They would have set an intercept course. They are merely observing… for the moment."

The bridge fell quiet as everyone contemplated the explanations of and repercussions to this scenario. The possibilities were too grave for Lieutenant Commander Gosnell's liking. "General Quarters. Mr. Qosa, get Captain Fletcher up here now."

The young Chief of Communications hesitated, unhappy with his only response, "I can't, sir. Both he and Executive Officer Howard were confined to quarters by Chief Medical Officer Beulow. He had to give them both tranquilizers to make them rest; they're out cold."

"They picked a great time to catch Thelusian flu. Try anyway."

"Aye, sir."

Tactics spoke up again, "Another course change. The probe is now heading almost directly for us."

"Mr. Robinson," hurried the Operations Chief, obviously uncomfortable in the command chair, "does it appear to have changed..."

The roar came from Tactical: "Sir, Klingons have matched the probe's change. They have detected us. Their weapons are armed."

Training took over, somewhat relieving the Commander. "Yellow Alert. Raise shields. Do NOT arm weapons."

"Klingons closing. All decks report 'Yellow Alert, Aye.'"

"Communications, scramble a message to StarFleet Command: `Unidentified probe entering Federation from Klingon Empire. An L-24 and a D-7S, both weapons-ready, are following. _Viking _will capture probe and expel Klingons pending further orders. Gosnell.' And step on it Commander!

"Engineering?"

"Steedley here, sir," replied the Chief Engineer.

"We may need weapons and warp power any time now."

"We're ready when you are, Commander." Her voice clearly conveyed her confidence in her systems.

"Mr. Kraal, status?"

"Klingons and probe closing. 20,000 kilometers. Cruisers are now crossing Federation border."

"Mr. Qosa, signal Klingons: `This is Lieutenant Commander Ed Gosnell, _USS __Viking_. You are in violation of Federation space. If you do not reverse course immediately...' "

"Sir," cried Sciences, "the probe is turning away from us, toward the Banipan System and Starbase 119."

Tactics added, "The D-7 is bearing off to follow. The Battleship is holding position just inside the border."

"Go to Red Alert. Intercept Cruiser One; get the weapons up. Mr. Qosa, alert StarFleet Command. Request assistance. We're no match for that _Ever-Victorious_."

"Aye, sir. Engineering reports weapons and warp at our signal."

Meanwhile, the Klingon's hands flew over the weapons console, powering up, locking on and double-checking everything. He was perhaps the only crewmember truly hoping for some resistance from the Klingons. "Cruiser One is slowing, scanning both the probe and us; but it is not turning away."

"Suggest that it should, Mr. Kraal."

Even before his orders were complete, the firing sequence was. A low power phaser came close to singeing a stripe across the Klingon bow.

"A little close don't you think, Lieutenant?" prodded the Ops Chief.

"My finger... slipped," came the smug reply.

"So noted." A slight glow on the viewscreen killed the mood of the friendly exchange. "Tractor beam?"

"Yes, sir," answered Lieutenant Robinson, bent over his sensors, involved in his scrutiny. "They have locked onto the probe, and are diverting power to engines, rear shields and aft torpedo bays. Forward shields and weapons are powering down.

"The L-24 has cloaked. Cruiser One is turning toward the border, probe in tow."

"Sir," sang Communications, "there is heavy exchange between ships."

"Jam it, Mr. Qosa.

"Tactical, get that tractor beam off. Garin, tell them that if they let go of the probe, they are free to go."

"Aye, air." Seconds passed; but, "Nothing."

The momentum, momentarily halted, let loose.

"Cruiser one is continuing, picking up speed."

"...Fire."

"Torps away." The display at Tactical radiated red. "Direct hits. No structural damage; shook them up, though."

At Sciences, another glow faded. "Tractor beam off. Engine power increasing," cried the Station Chief. "Weapons bloom!"

"Evasive." calmly ordered the Command chair.

The crew instinctively braced, except Tactics, who chuckled and took his hand off the `launch' button. "Torpedo destroyed, sir. Cruiser One fleeing across the border now, at high warp speed."

Gosnell drooped his head and exhaled. "Yellow alert. Leave the shields up. Mr. Robinson, any sign of the L-24?"

"No sir. But I doubt that she'll stay in Federation space long without the smaller ship."

"And the probe?"

"Maintaining the Cruiser's course at 3/4 impulse. Wait... Changing to parallel with border."

"Helm, lay in an intercept course." As Gosnell passed over to Sciences, "Mr. Steedley, we need that tractor beam."

"Ready, sir." The confidence had only strengthened.

"Activate it, Mr. Kraal. Grab that probe."

"Aye, sir," acknowledged the beaming Klingon.

Now at Sciences, the Second Officer tried to answer some questions using questions. "Mr. Robinson, where is that probe headed? Where did it come from? And is it dangerous?"

When there aren't any answers, a best guess will usually suffice. "I don't know. Not yet," exclaimed the Chief of Sciences. "Once we get a closer look at that probe and have time to study it, I can answer you. I need time." By the strained look on Gosnell's face, Robinson easily deduced that a better answer was required... now.

"I have no reason to believe that it is dangerous. It has been scanning constantly and showed no response to the recent activity around it. From preliminary scans, it's obviously not Federation or ally, and does not appear to be Klingon or Romulan. As to its course, I can't find one. The only pattern in its navigation has been an apparently random course modification at regular intervals since we first picked it up." No change on the face.

"As I said before, sir, I'll know more once we've had a closer look." Relief...

"We have the probe, sir," called Tactical.

"Excuse me, Commander. I have work to do now." With that, Robinson turned back to his instruments, happy to be working rather than talking.

Gosnell, also more at ease with the probe in their control, began the hardest part of the fight yet. Not against the Klingons, but against mystery. "Communications, re-advise Command: `We have captured probe and are studying. Klingons have been evicted with minimal force. Will continue patrol pending orders. Gosnell.' Rosecrypt it."

"Going out now, sir."

"Mr. Robinson, any reason not to bring it aboard for further study?"

"None that I can see, sir."

"Mr. Kraal, any objections?"

"No sir. But we should keep it isolated, just in case."

"Agreed," chimed Robinson.

"Engineering, this is Commander Gosnell."

"Ensign Thuul here, sir." replied the Deputy Chief Engineer.

"How would you and Chief Steedley like to take a closer look at this probe, first hand?"

"Steedley here. We'd love to. But I think we need to be careful."

"Mr. Robinson and Mr. Kraal agree. They suggest isolation."

"We have a repair shop around the corner that we can cut off from ship's systems."

"Very well. Mr. Robinson, you, Mr. Kraal and Engineering handle this personally."

"Aye, sir."

As the two officers headed for the turbolift, Gosnell set about restoring order to his bridge. "Mr. Qosa, get replacement officers up here; and kill the Alert lights. You have the Conn."

And as the Communications Chief paged alternate personnel to the now vacant stations, Gosnell `stepped outside.' Even on border patrol --especially on border patrol, nature calls.

* * *

Aboard his cloaked flagship, the _K'Tahdin _(or _Master of Dreams_), Klingon Force Admiral Kaa'Rach epetai-Volkarr considered the situation before him. That coward Captain Kamraa, who fled from the Federation survey ship, would be dealt with later; but now his attention was focused on that same _Pleiades _class starship.

The foolish humans had taken the "Demon's" device on board; and he wished to see what the antique would do. He had intended to let Kamraa take it in, to risk Kamraa's (worthless) hide on investigating the enemy probe; now the _Viking_ would suffice. He needed only to follow unseen, and watch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

"Basically, it's just one big engine with a few navigation sensors thrown on the front." Chief Engineer Lieutenant Angela Steedley concluded her analysis as she circled the diagnostic table. "Apparently, all it is supposed to do is to fly around aimlessly without crashing into anything."

"What possible purpose could that serve?" thought Science Officer Robinson out loud.

"I don't know," sighed the Warp Drive Propulsion System's Officer, weary from several hours of examination. "Unless that loose chip from its nav computer is memory storage, there's no place to save any sensory data. Without course information, we're back to square..."

The in-ship intercom buzzed, and Acting Commanding Officer Gosnell spoke, "Status report, Mr. Robinson?"

"Nothing yet, sir." We've found a chip that might hold the key to some answers."

"Is it turning out?"

"It is not, Commander," broke in Lieutenant Kraal. "Not yet, anyway. We didn't want to reattach the chip to the probe, so we hooked it to a tricorder. Halfway through the download, the tricorder malfunctioned; Ensign Thuul is running a computer scan."

"What about the concerns of attaching it to the ship's systems?" queried the CO.

"This console has been quarantined from the rest of Engineering," joined Steedley. "All the connecting circuits have been completely powered down. There's no way for anything to get in or out without the power there for electrical impulse transfer."

"How soon will we know something?"

"It will be a while," answered the Engineer. "The chip is in tertiary code, like old Klingon software. We're having to translate into binary-isolinear for our systems; and it's taking a little time."

Anticipating the coming supposition, the Klingon spoke, "That does not make it Klingon, sir. The `dialect,' if you will, is definitely non-Klin."

"Then the probe is not Klingon in origin?"

"Definitely not, sir. We've also found that the fuel deterioration is advanced. The probe has been traveling much too long to have been launched by the two Klingon ships. In fact," he said, checking his tricorder, "it dates prior to the Four Years War."

"That's good to hear; the Admiralty was understandably concerned with the Empire's launching secret weapons into the Federation through the Triangle. This will put them somewhat more at ease.

"Anyway, carry on. Let me know as soon as you find something. Oh, Mr. Robinson, we need you on the Bridge. There is some migratory static on the long-range scans. I'd like your expertise on this one."

"Yes, sir. On my way." The intercom closed; and the Chief of Science took a last look at the spherical probe. "I'd better be going. Let me know if you need me."

Leaving the mysterious orb to the Security Chief and the Engineering staff, he entered a nearby turbolift. "Bridge."

Instead of the normal, electric chatter and obedient movement, the speaker garbled and the computer responded, "Bridge: A structure built over a chasm, river or roadway, to provide a means across for traffic or pedestrians; a connecting passage between two sections of a musical composition; any of various card games... "

"Computer!" shouted Robinson. "Take me to the bridge."

The shipboard elevator quietly complied.

* * *

"[The information you requested is available, Admiral."

"[Well done, K'Dar. Any activity on that garbage scow of a patrol ship?"

"[None, my lord,]" replied the _K'Tahdin_'s First Officer. "[They have downloaded the Kinshiya probe and have contacted their Command; but they report nothing unusual.]"

"[It will only be a matter of time,]" stated the battleship commander. "[Keep watching. Alert me when something happens.]"

"[Understood, my lord.]"

Volkarr thumbed the intercom, turning his attention to the Imperial intelligence reports before him. "[Computer, summarize reports on the NCC 456.]"

In the harsh, metallic voice common to Klingon ships' computers, the terminal before him obeyed. "[Federation _Pleiades _class survey-ship _USS Viking_, registry N-C-C-4-5-6, currently assigned to patrol along Empire-Federation border. Most notable for its contingent of Federation-raised Klingon officers. Imperial engagements include: Kerta Oq territorial infringement, where it...]"

"[Halt!" The machine stuttered and stopped. "[Embellish on Klingon crew members.]"

"[Intelligence reports indicate at least three Klingon crewmen among the ship's security department. Current scans confirm three Klingon life signs aboard the _Viking_. Imperial intelligence lacks identity of junior-most officer; Starfleet personnel records identify the others as: Lieutenant Korrd sutai-Pallara, Deputy Security Chief; and Lieutenant Kraal epetai-Pallara, Chief of Security.]"

The flag officer's spacious quarters shook with his fury, "KRAAL!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

Lieutenant Korrd, this shift's Security representative to the investigation team, stood skulking at the probe. Although he did not recognize it, its form seemed familiar to him. His inability to remember more agitated him; and the tok's pace at which the engineers were uncovering its secrets did not help his mood. The Andorian engineer's mate, Thuul, had finished his translation of the alien chip, and was now working at the same console to make sense of the extremely intricate programming. His speed was less than desirable.

"Patience, comrade, " said a firm voice from behind him. "This is not the time to make hasty mistakes."

Korrd noticed how his Chief's Klingon had picked up a Federation accent; but dared not tell Kraal to his face.

The older warrior continued, "Our crewmates know what they are doing. Besides, can you comprehend computer programs any faster than they can?"

The young officer was silent. He knew the insult was true and friendly; but his present state of mind was not as amiable.

"I thought not. Let them work.

"Go get something to drink. I'll take over here while you visit that food dispenser back there."

"I don't want anything."

"It's for me, you selfish son of a targ. Go," he instructed with a shove.

Smiling now, Korrd obeyed. Kraal might sound like a human; but he spoke like a Klingon.

Unlike most ships in the Fleet, the _Viking_had a wide selection of Klin foods on its dispenser menus. The Chief of Security would probably love a glass of g'til'k, but for that insult he deserved something more tame, more... human. "Orange juice, five degrees centigrade." Kraal hated orange juice.

The dispenser hummed and produced one glass of OJ. And then another. And then another. And another. And dozens more. The multiplying glasses, like well-fed tribbles, overflowed the small dispenser. Most fell to the floor and shattered. The others landed in Korrd's arms and spilled all over him as he tried desperately to keep up with the avalanche of fruit juice. In seconds he was soaked and up to his ankles in broken glasses.

The crew in the reactor room had noticed his dilemma almost immediately and rushed to help; but the team in the isolated repair shop heard nothing until Korrd screamed in rage. As Chiefs Steedley and Kraal rounded the corner into Main Engineering, they saw him at the center of a swarm of enlisted men and women who were trying desperately to stop the dispenser, clean up the mess and appease the fuming Klingon.

Giving in to his fury, Korrd threw down his armload of empty glasses screaming, "[Demons have it!]" He glared at the startled crewmembers around him, and then swiftly stuck his fist deep into the wall unit.

The dispenser halted.

Everyone was silent as the strapping Klingon, still frothing at the mouth, withdrew his arm from the dead unit. He turned to face the staring audience, who were awed by this show of strength. Only Kraal was unaffected enough to speak. "Well, Korrd, I think the Demons can have it now;" he chuckled, "we can't use it."

The young Klingon smiled, gaining control of his emotion, and stepped from the crowd of glass, liquid and engineers. Dripping, he started toward his friend; but stopped suddenly. The smile evaporated from his face. "That's it," he said, rage giving way to revelation. "That's it. That's where I know that probe."

He started toward the two Department Chiefs again, quickly; but did not stop when he got to them. He continued down the corridor to the repair shop and stood in the open door.

His Chief of Security was the first to catch up to him. "Korrd, what are you talking about?"

Korrd stared right through the startled Ensign Thuul, straight at the ball on the diagnostic table. "The Demons sent it," he said. "That probe is Kinshiya."

It was now stoic Kraal's turn to be stunned. Recovering as best he could, he tapped the intercom. "Bridge, we have a problem."

* * *

K'Dar had never seen her lord this angry. Even on Gooti Five, the Admiral had only smashed a table before ordering the native settlement eradicated for helping the Federation agent escape. Now, he would throw a lamp, pace, vaporize a chair, stomp the ashes and rant.

"[My lord,]" said K'Dar, trying to remain calm. "[What is it that enrages you so?]"

Volkarr turned and pounced on his First Officer. Picking her up by the throat, he snarled, "[I have found Kraal! All my searching and plotting; and I come across him in my own backyard! He is what troubles me so, you fool!]"

"[My liege,]" gasped K'Dar, not accustomed to being on the receiving end of her Admiral's wrath, "[what of the humanized weakling?]"

Tossing his friend to the floor, the epetai resumed his tirade. "[That bloodworm has escaped my agents for years. He is the highest-ranking `Klingon' officer in Starfleet and he knows of my... exploits. He has information that could topple the Empire.]" Another chair met a violent death.

_[This is getting expensive,]_ thought the Admiral's ranking underling. She said, however, "[Then we shall kill him now, my lord. I will order the helm to uncloak and destroy his ship. They would be helpless against us.]"

"[NO!]" screamed Volkarr, turning menacingly on the younger officer again. "[Kraal is mine and mine alone; and I shall kill him with my own two hands.]" He snapped the staff on the wall beside him in two. "[Mine, do you hear? MINE!!!]"


	4. Chapter 4

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

"No sir. I said, `Kin-shI-ya.' Lieutenant Korrd believes that they sent the probe."

"Who are the `Kinshiya,' Mr. Kraal?" asked Gosnell.

"I don't know much about them myself, sir. Only that they fought with the Klingon Empire several times. My people call them the `Demons.'"

Korrd broke in on his behalf. "We've never seen them, but the probe seems similar to their satellites and space mines that I've heard described in stories about the Demon Wars."

"If it is Kinshiya, is it a weapon?"

"That's doubtful, Commander, no explosives, just circuitry," stated the Chief of Security. "Even if it was, it would have to be a relic from the last of the Demon Wars. The fuel deterioration rates would place it in that time-frame, making it too old to pose any threat now. I do have teams checking it, just in case."

"Very well. I only have one more question... "

"Chief!" came a loud shout through the intercom. "Look at this!" Gosnell heard the sound of movement, and then nothing. The intercom connection clicked close.

"Engineering? Engineering! What's happening?"

No reply.

"Garin," the Ops Chief cried, turning to the Communications Officer across the Bridge, "what happened?"

"I'm not sure, sir. The comlink just collapsed."

"Get me another. Something's going on down there."

The young Caspian seemed to tap every keypad on his console, but no channel opened. Switching to manual, he tried again; but still nothing. "I can't get through to Engineering." He hit a few more keys. "For that matter, I can't get through to anyone. Everything's dead."

Gosnell was at his side immediately. "What do you mean you can't get through to anyone? What about secondary systems?"

"Non functional, sir. My board's completely out."

"This is too odd," said the Lieutenant Commander, as he paced down to the command dais. "Sound general quarters."

* * *

All over the ship, klaxons blared. The off-duty crew returned to their quarters, the on-duty crew raced to their primary stations. Within seconds the decks were clear and the ship was quiet as the deck officers tried to report their readiness to the bridge. Tried.

* * *

The bridge turbolift opened and out stepped the Chief of Security. He walked immediately to his station, to familiarize himself with the present situation. Quickly scanning his console and finding nothing out of the ordinary, he asked, "Sir, what is the alarm?"

"I should ask you that question. We heard a commotion in Engineering and then the intercom went dead. Communication was cut off all over the ship, so I ordered general quarters."

"I'm sorry, sir," replied the Klingon. "Ensign Thuul discovered something in the Kinshiya programming; I went to see; and when I tried to relay it to you, the channel was closed. I couldn't raise you, and then the klaxon sounded. I thought something had happened here."

"Commander," spoke up the Communications Chief. "Shipwide communications have been restored. I'm running a diagnostic now."

"Good, Mr. Qosa. Maintain the alert until you find something. Now, Lieutenant, what was it you found?"

"Buried deep in the programming was a message in Klingon to an ancient Klingon leader. The message said, `For Korrok, a gift of Demon magic.'"

"`Korrok'? And what is `Demon magic'?"

"Korrok was the most successful of the Klingon admirals in the Demon Wars. As for the magic, I don't know. I wasn't raised in the Empire; I know only bits of the mythology and history of the Wars."

"Well, whatever it is, I don't like the sound of it. What do you suggest we..."

Suddenly the lights went out. The consoles blackened and the bridge was bathed in pitch darkness. For an instant, no one stirred. Then...

"Emergency lights," ordered Gosnell's ruffled voice. "Go to red alert."

The pale white back-up lights flickered on, almost instantly highlighted by an oscillating red. On the bridge everyone had remained exactly as they were when the lighting had failed. Everyone but the Klingon. Already he was scouring his console. "All decks report power outage; several minor injuries. All stations report `red alert aye.'"

"Engineering," called Gosnell into the air around him. "What the devil happened?"

Lt. Commander Qosa turned with a very displeased look on his face. "Sorry, sir, communications just went out again."

A collective "Damn!" was thought by the entire bridge crew.

Only Gosnell chose to verbalize, "Damn. Run a diagnostic and then pass out hand communicators to the crew, starting with Engineering.

"Mr. Kraal, get Security teams out in force shipwide. You remain here and put Korrd and some officers in Engineering."

Both the Klingon and the Caspian moved to obey their orders.

"Mr. Howard, how goes the helm?"

"All controls are responding, sir. No apparent damage," replied the quiet human as he passed his hands deftly over the console before him.

"Finally, something our way," thought the CO. "Captain Fletcher ought to be handling this." Speaking of the Captain, Gosnell turned to Communications, where Qosa had just returned from relaying the handheld intercom order. "Mr. Qosa, I don't care what Mr. Beulow says, get the Captain up here NOW!"

"Yes, sir. In the meantime, I have Engineering on a communicator." He tossed his superior the small 23rd century walkie-talkie. "Angela is not a happy camper."

"This is Gosnell; what is going on down there?"

"It's not just down here, sir," barked the Chief Engineer. "I'm getting reports from all over the ship about stuck doors, hyper-active force fields and even a belching turbolift on Deck 5. And before you ask me what's wrong or when it will be fixed. I'll get back to you as soon as I know. I am not Captain Scott."

With that, the startled CO was left holding a silent communicator. "Thank you, Mr. Steedley," he said softly, knowing she was no longer there to hear.

* * *

K'Dar slouched in the command seat aboard the massive _K'Tahdin_. She could not understand her lord's fury, nor could she much longer stand to simply stare at the weak Federation starship. From her schooling, she knew that the Terran Norsemen had been a fierce, proud race many centuries before. A pity that this namesake starsled was not so formidable.

She was about to retire to her quarters, when a spark from the contemporary _Viking_ caught her eye. A photon torpedo arced from the ship's bow and spiraled out into deep space. This was more like it!

"[Battle alert!]" she cried. Her bridge crew, obviously as bored as she had been, sprang to life.

The Klingon equivalent of the Science Officer called out. "[Captain, the _Viking_'s engines have been shut down. It is drifting without control.]"

"[And the torpedo?]" asked K'Dar, enjoying this even more each moment.

"[There was no prior warning. It was armed and immediately fired, with no visible target.]" The officer seemed confused by the pointless action.

K'Dar was not. "[My lord,]" she said, slamming the intercom, "[it has begun.]"


	5. Chapter 5

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

"There it is again, sir."

"There's what again, Lieutenant?" barked Gosnell. Regaining his composure, he continued, "I'm sorry, David. What have you found?"

"It's that blur on the long range scans, Commander." replied the Chief of Sciences. "I thought I had taken care of it; but it's showing up again. I've tried everything to correct it. Sensors say that there is something there. Diagnostic says nothing's wrong with the sensors. Double-checking says there's nothing wrong with diagnostic. It must be something."

"What is it then?" asked the Acting CO coldly, again showing signs of the stress of the situation.

"I can't tell; it's too far away. But whatever it is, it's big."

"Okay. Keep trying. Mr. Howard, take us closer to Chief Robinson's mystery. Heading… 203, mark 08."

"203, mark 8. Aye, sir. …Wait, engines not responding." answered the Helm.

As he spoke the lights flickered.

"Mr. Kraal," called out Gosnell as he motioned for emergency lights, "secure the weapons. I don't want any more spontaneous firings."

The pale back-up lights snapped on as the communicator on his belt buzzed. "Gosnell here."

"Commander," came the angry voice of Robert Beulow, the Chief Medical Officer, "I don't know what is going on; but I need consistent power to treat the injuries all of this is producing. I need steady power now."

"We're doing our best," countered the Ops Chief. "I'll let Mr. Steedley know of your request."

"That's not a request; it's a necessity." Click.

"Calgon," thought Gosnell, remembering his mother's cry of exasperation. Who knew what it meant. "He could at least be civil with his complaints," thought Gosnell. "After all he won't wake the Captain or Executive Officer for me. Even if they would be sick as canines awake, at least they'd be here to help. But, I have to make do…"

Resetting his communicator he eventually got the Chief Engineer. "Status report, Lieutenant?"

"A few minor victories, sir. You should have engines back; and Mr. Beulow should have his power momentarily. But our biggest find is that we've traced the problem to a source…"

"Just a moment, Angela," he broke in. He motioned for Robinson, Kraal and Qosa to listen in. "Alright, go on."

"Well, we determined that the problems are being caused by mistakes in the ship's programming. The equipment is correctly following a bad set of orders."

"Sabotage?" questioned the Security Chief.

"In a way." The Bridge officers exchanged shocked looks.

The Engineer didn't stop. "The ship's programming is being erased. Entire sections of the main banks are perfectly empty. At first, the damage was spotty, so things just behaved erratically. Now though, the vacancies are growing and actually shutting down some systems. It's like something was eating its way through memory."

The Bridge crew continued to gape as the Engineer went on. "Ensign Thuul has noted that the damage becomes more extensive as we go backwards down the list of affected systems."

"I don't understand," added Gosnell, speaking for all the listening officers.

"Okay, if we list the systems in the order they began behaving erratically, we get `communications, power, weapons and engines.' The first one to act oddly, communications, is the most badly affected--we've lost it completely. On the more recent end, engines show only slight problems beginning."

"Are you saying the problem began in communications?" asked Qosa, shocked that his systems might be in the wrong.

"At first, we did." explained Steedley. "But then Lieutenant Self, the communications officer down here, noticed that the affected systems were related. Here in Engineering, the command centers for all those areas are side-by-side, with communications in the center. They're all right there in a row. And you'll never guess what's on the other side of their bulkhead."

The Bridge officers stared at each other, instantly understanding, and spoke in unison, "The probe."

* * *

The atmosphere on the bridge of the _K'Tahdin _changed instantly when the Admiral entered. He strode immediately to the command chair, which K'Dar quickly relinquished to him. "[What is its status?]" he half-asked, half-ordered.

"[The _Viking_ continues to be racked by technical failures,]" calmly answered/obeyed the First Officer, straining to contain her enjoyment of the situation. "[Their normal- and sub-space communications are out completely, power is sporadic at best. They have taken all weapons off-line and are in the process of stabilizing their sub-light engines; warp drive has failed.]"

Volkarr displayed no such joy. "[Then they are unable to call for help, defend themselves or flee?]"

"[Apparently so, my lord.]"

The vengeance-minded warrior pondered the sight on the viewer before him. "[Then they are a helpless target,]" he thought, "[unworthy of a Klingon's time. But,]" his eyes brightened with excitement, "[a target nonetheless.]"

He pounded his fist on the arm of his `throne.' The sudden action startled K'Dar; but the order that followed did not.

"[Helm,]" thundered the Klingon Empire's (self-proclaimed) finest warrior, "[attack course to the Federation ship on my order.]" He paused a moment, to savor the friendly thought of enemy blood on his hands. In this victory, not just any Federation death would suffice.

Kraal would be his this day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

Systems' failure and malfunction reports continued to pour in to the bridge. Replicators and primary lighting had failed all over the ship. Turbolifts and doors were sporadic at their best. Even bridge consoles were beginning to show signs of contamination. Life support, the ship's most highly-protected program, had not been affected… yet. But Gosnell knew, as did his bridge officers, that their good luck could not last much longer. The only question was how much longer.

Gosnell turned back to the Engineering schematic on the console before him. There was the `probe lab' marked in solid yellow; the severely damaged systems next door in solid red; and those a little further from the probe, those under current attack, were flashing red.

Most of Engineering was in some way red.

"Mr. Steedley, you assured me that the lab had been isolated from the rest of the ship; but my screen shows that the probe's attack has come directly out of that lab. Any explanations?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know how. Ensign Thuul is working on it now in an electrics lab that hasn't been contaminated yet. My crews and I are busy trying to contain the spread of the `virus' and repair what has already been affected."

"Very well. How are communication repairs coming?"

"Lt. Self is on her way up now to report in person."

"What about the engines?"

"We've downloaded their programming from the sealed memory in the computer core twice; but the virus keeps eating it faster than we can start up. Right now we're trying to find ways to purge the virus that's already in the systems. There doesn't seem to be any use in reprogramming until that's been done."

"What do you think will stop it?"

"Frankly, sir, I have no idea."

Gosnell felt himself being backed into the corner. There didn't seem to be any way left to fight back. His animal instinct then gave him only one other choice.

"Garin, sound `Evacuation Code One'."

The entire bridge crew paused when they heard the words from their CO. Except for `surrender', `abandon ship' is the most painful order a Starfleet crew can be given. As the alpha klaxon sounded throughout the _Viking_, personnel elsewhere paused also. Save the blaring noise over the communicators, there was no other sound.

It was not until Lt. Commander Garin Qosa's shallowed voice interrupted the siren that anyone moved. "Attention all hands..."

* * *

"...prepare to abandon ship."

Slowly, Engineering came back to life. Technicians renewed their efforts to stabilize the main reactor, locking the evacuation order into the backs of their minds.

"Chief Steedley," cried a small, lavender anti-matter specialist, "the containment fields are holding, but we have to alternate between primary, secondary and tertiary shielding to maintain integrity."

"Better than nothing, Ensign." replied the Chief Engineer, crawling out of a bank of opened panels and twisted wires. "Keep trying."

She passed over to a status board. Like Gosnell's, red glows, signifying the affected systems, blanketed a diagram of the ship's silhouette. Tapping a few keys on the control pad nearby, the Chief Engineer turned off one of the lights by activating the jury-rigging with which she had bypassed a "tainted" coupling. A few more key-strokes told her that the power was once again flowing steadily from the reactor.

"Finally," she thought. "Mark one more off the `to do' list."

Next on the same list was restoring communications. True, if the _Viking_missed its scheduled reports (as it had already done twice since the sub-space transmitter had failed), Starfleet would send a ship to investigate. However, to Steedley, it was a matter of pride to repair the damage herself. It would be a cold day on Mu Leonis I before she and her techs couldn't take care of their own ship.

A quick glance down the wall showed her that, indeed, a team was well into its repairs on the communications panel. In fact, all over Main Engineering, groups of technicians worked feverishly to correct the damage done by the probe's assault on the ship's programs. Every available body was here combating the results of that download.

"Speaking of the download…" she thought. And with that she sprinted down the corridor to the Electrics Lab.

Upon entering the small room, she found Ensign Thuul staring blankly at a screen covered with circuit diagrams. After fourteen straight hours of extra duty, even the stoic Andorian was showing his exhaustion. In addition to his glassy eyes, his sensitive antennae were drooping and his normally erect posture was noticeably relaxed. Like everyone else, he ought to be sleeping.

"Ensign," she said as he jumped to attention, startled by her sudden appearance, "report to your quarters immediately. No sleeping on the job; you know that."

Sleepily confused and unnerved by her apparent intent to confine him to quarters for his falling asleep while on duty, he slowly got up and sadly marched past her.

As he passed, she touched his shoulder. "Get some sleep. You'll do me more good with an hour's rest. I'll take a look at the virus programming for now."

Stunned anew by her change in tone, he stopped and stared at her. A quick wink and pat on the back sent him hurrying toward his much needed nap.

"I wish I could lay down too. But, duty calls." She moved to the now empty chair at the monitor station. She yawned and addressed the computer, "Computer, summarize findings on Kinshiya Virus up to the present."

After a moment's pause, the computer shouted back, "Up to the present... Up yours, you Hestalorian..." And the screen imploded.

"Rapsalak!" exclaimed the Chief Engineer. "Should have known better than to ask a sick computer. And," she continued sarcastically, as she examined the remains of the video display, "I really have the time to replace this screen."

With a mixture of anger and exasperation, she retrieved a portable screen from the lab's equipment locker, activated it and prepared to connect it to the wall unit. Just as she had attached the coupling-cable to both, the door behind her opened.

"Chief?" came the familiar Fesoan voice.

"Not now, Mr. Thuul; I'm just about to interface the &$!#% console to this PADD. Besides," she said, turning to face him, "I ordered you to bed."

"I know, sir; but the turbolift doors aren't responding."

"Again?!" She stood, going to the Andorian. "Well, while they're fixing them, take the personal lifts up to Security and catch a lift from there."

"I would, sir," he hesitated, "but the lifts and all the other exits from this deck have been deactivated; we're sealed in."

Before Steedley could curse again, a humming noise from the table behind her grew louder and louder. Both she and her blue assistant tracked down its source just in time to see the newly attached PADD detonate.

No cursing. Both engineers gaped at the charred spot on the desk top. For a moment, neither moved --the Andorian due to bewilderment and the human due to deep thought. The latter took the first step forward.

"How on Terra did that happen?"

* * *

On the bridge, conditions had worsened. The Chief of Communications had been knocked unconscious by an electrical surge at his console; and the `Yellow Alert' lighting instigated by the first Evacuation Code had failed. Now the ship's nerve center was lit in small pockets by handheld lamps. Gosnell paced past the injured Caspian, and around the bridge, which seemed much smaller in the dark. His mind drifted back to the stories of old Earth, to the American Civil War.

As he surveyed his dim bridge, he imagined that this must have been how those soldiers felt, sitting around the campfires waiting for the coming battle. He knew that a battle was coming; the ship's condition was deteriorating more and more quickly. And though he had electric lamps rather than burning wood, the approaching battle was still brother versus brother. His own ship was doing its best to destroy itself and all the Starfleet officers who called it home.

In its metallic grey, the _Viking_ was on the constant offensive now; meanwhile his troops, in their red tunics or white jumpsuits or blue... Well, no blue uniforms; but the analogy still held some truth.

He wondered whether the `Union' triumph would hold true another time around. Or would the rebellious computer rise to victory where its predecessor had failed?

"Commander?"

Gosnell turned to see his Deputy Chief of Communications standing beside him. "Yes, Mr. Self?"

"Lt. Steedley has a promising report from Engineering."

As the communicator was handed closer to him, the Ops Chief heard an energetic babble issuing from its small speaker. At first, he thought it was interference, another malfunction or perhaps several channels were bleeding over onto this one. But, when he was able to listen more closely, all he heard was a very excited Chief Engineer. "Lieutenant!" he shouted into the device, "Mr. Steedley!" The voice halted. "Now then, let's try this a little more slowly."

"Sorry, sir," she responded, trying valiantly to keep her enthusiasm under control, "But, sir, we've found out how the virus spreads!"

* * *

"[To Romulus with the Council!]" shouted Volkarr. "[They are weak, old, fat toks who have forgotten the taste of an enemy's blood in favor of cheap wine! They are not here now; they are safely at home in their comfortable beds. But I, I am here. I am your Captain; and damn you, you will obey me!]"

The bridge was silent. Some officers stared blankly at their stations; a few gaped at the charred remains of the science officer who had been unfortunate enough to speak out against Volkarr; but only K'Dar dared to face the raging epetai eye-to-eye. Yet even she could do so only for a moment.

Luckily, her status board flashed. Reading it quickly, she relayed its information to her lord. "[My lord, the Emperor has dispatched four frigates and a cruiser to find us. They have orders to capture us dead or alive.]"

"[The Emperor should not send such expensive ships on dead-end missions; they will cost him dearly to replace. But enough dribble. Lay in the attack course on the _Viking_; and anyone with other ideas can see my `complaints officer' at their soonest convenience.]" He held up his disrupter and turned so that all the bridge officers could understand. Seeing no one willing to step forward, he began to sit down.

"[My lord,]" started K'Dar, never having taken her eyes off her station.

Volkarr leapt from his chair and leveled the pistol at his First Officer, reacting merely to the sound. Realizing whom he was threatening, he lowered the weapon. "[Speak.]"

Completely unfazed by the blaster barrel which she never saw, but knew was there, she continued. "[The _Viking_ has initiated `Evacuation Code Two.' The crew is moving to abandon ship.]"

"[Cowardly humans,]" muttered the Admiral as he turned back to the main viewer and dropped into his seat. "They run from everything." He chuckled as he adjusted his weight in the chair. "[But we'll just see if they get away this time.]"


	7. Chapter 7

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

Aboard the _Viking_, crewmembers moved quickly but calmly to the shuttles and workbees stored in the ship's hangar bays. Computer contamination had made transporters and lifeboats too risky. Deck by deck Security teams combed the corridors and cabins for stray personnel. What should have taken ten minutes to do took twenty instead because of the malfunctioning turbolifts and doors.

Eventually, a majority of the crew was aboard their assigned escape craft waiting for the final order to launch. Gosnell himself waited on a final word from Engineering as to whether they would be able to stop the virus or not.

"No, sir." said the Chief Engineer, the sound of quick footsteps fading behind her. "Because the virus programming can spread through systems across links with even the most minute traces of power in them, nothing we can do except to physically disconnect every unaffected system would stop it. Any circuit or wire that's ever carried a current is at risk; that's just too many connections to be cut. The Kinshiya who designed this virus thought of everything.

"I estimate that we've got no more than thirty minutes before life support begins failing and/or the anti-matter shields collapse and the ship goes nova." She added, with a trace of self-disappointment, "I'm sorry, sir; there's nothing more I can do."

Though Gosnell had been expecting this crucial moment for some time, he was by no means prepared for the emotion of the decision. "It's not your fault, Angela. We all tried. Now, you'd better get your crew to the shuttle bay."

"Yes, sir. Ensign Thuul and I are the last ones to leave. We'll work our way up through maintenance shafts. See you top side. Steedley out."

Gosnell turned to his bridge crew, the last six officers beside himself not in or en route to the shuttle bay. Except the Captain!

He whirled to face the Chief of Security. "Mr. Kraal, were your men able to get to the Captain?"

"No, sir," solemnly replied the Klingon, thumbing his console for the latest report. "They were able to remove XO Howard from her quarters; but the computer sealed a blast door that they weren't able to penetrate to reach the Captain's cabin. I sent them to the hangar to get Mr. Howard onto the medical shuttle."

Seeing Gosnell's look of concern, he quickly stated his further intention. "Don't worry, sir. There's a wiring shaft over behind the Sciences station that runs beside his quarters to the computer core. There's enough room in it to move him up here; then we can put him on the command shuttle that's on its way to get us at the bridge docking port."

"Good enough. How many people will you need?"

"Just one beside myself, sir."

Before any member of the senior officers could raise their hands, as all of them intended to do, Gosnell spoke. "I'm your being, Mr. Kraal."

The Klingon nodded and moved over to the now vacant Science station and began removing paneling, already putting his plan into action.

The Acting CO, meanwhile, played his part as well. "Lieutenant Self, launch the Flight Data Recorder and a distress buoy, if the computer will let you; and sound `Evacuation Code Three.' The rest of you help get Mr. Qosa into the airlock, and wait for the command shuttle.

"Once everyone's off, we'll initiate the destruct sequence from the evac fleet. Mr. Robinson, tell Mr. Steedley to get on that.

"Now go. Kraal, the Captain and I will join you in a moment."

His four friends quickly removed the injured Caspian into the turbolift, activated the manual swivel, and disappeared from Gosnell's view. "…Hopefully," he thought, as he turned to help his Security Chief on the sensor console.

But the deft Klingon had already opened a gaping hole in the library access panel and was just vanishing through it. "Don't come down yet, sir" he cried from deep within the wall. "I'm setting my phaser to overload, to open a door into the Captain's quarters."

"Careful..." Gosnell started. But Kraal needed no warning. He suddenly came flying through the breached duty station. Seconds later a loud whine and explosion followed.

When the smoke had cleared in the bridge, Kraal was already at hole again, wearing a respirator mask from the bridge's med-kit. He tossed another to Gosnell and carefully made his way out of sight.

"Never mind," and Gosnell followed.

* * *

Word spread quickly through the evacuation fleet that the Senior Officers were not yet off. Although all the pilots had launched when the `Abandon Ship' order was given, none wanted to go too far from the ship. Though a shuttle was already docking at the bridge airlock to extract the last remaining few, the crewmen and women already disembarked could not bring themselves to flee to safety at the established rendezvous coordinates, not while their leaders were still in danger.

The Flight Data Recorder had flown by some minutes ago; and the distress buoy had been launched, but lay silently malfunctioning just outside its launch bay. Though the swarm of small ships were emitting a distress call of their own, the previous omens were taken seriously by the 250+ people in the motley collection of shuttles, workbees and space suits.

Even the brusque Chief Medical Officer refused to order his shuttle too far from the seemingly healthy _Viking_**.** He couldn't believe that the ship looked so well from space; but he knew it was in bad shape internally. And that's where his fellow officers were.

Only the Chief Engineer looked at the exterior of the vessel and saw the disease that was destroying it. She alone noticed that the navigational lights were blinking out of sequence and that the upper pylon's flush vent was leaking a small amount of Bussard-red hydrogen. To her the ship was dying; her metal friend was dying; and it just might take her organic friends with it.

For an instant, her eyes twinkled in the starlight, but then faded as the moisture escaped down her cheek.

* * *

"[Attack!]" he finally cried.

"[Success, my lord.]" she quietly whispered.

* * *

Once through the shattered bulkhead into the Captain's cabin, the Operations and Security Chiefs quickly discovered that the shock waves from the exploding phaser had tipped the lid of the Captain's photon torpedo tube enough to close and jam it. Unable to take their drugged leader himself, they activated the built-in anti-gravity units and hurried to the newly opened portal into the wiring shaft, both knowing that the fit would be very, very tight.

As they started their precarious climb to the bridge, Gosnell's communicator chirped vigorously. Muttering about the Captain's "damn Alucardian sleeping requirements," he shifted the quasi-vampire's `casket' to allow him to nimbly tap the `acknowledge' button and continue his ascent.

"Commander," came the concerned voice of Lieutenant Self, "the command shuttle is here. We're ready to depart as soon as you get here."

"Acknowledged, Rebecca," he replied, struggling somewhat to maneuver himself, the Klingon and the photon tube within the slender shaft. "We're having to bring up Captain Fletcher's tube; it's jammed shut. I'd appreciate a few helping hands at the Science station."

"Already on our way, sir."

Far above him, Gosnell heard the mechanical sound of the turbolift being manually rotated to face its door onto the bridge rather than its airlock portal. Quickly the sound of opening doors and footsteps followed; the latter becoming louder until...

"Ed, I'm here with David. You've only got about another two and a half meters to go."

"...but surely." muttered the Klingon at the upper end of the casket, quoting the old Terran adage.

Gosnell was considering measurements other than the length of shaft left to be traversed. "Mr. Self, how go Chief Steedley's efforts to remote activate the self destruct?"

"Not well, sir. She's gotten access, but the computer won't accept that Captain Fletcher, Lieutenant Howard and Lt. Commander Qosa are incapacitated. Until it realizes that you, Angela and David are the highest ranking remaining officers, it won't let you activate the self-destruct. She doesn't think she'll be able to get around its security protocols."

With a final, combined effort they pulled/pushed the true Commanding Officer's tube through the Science station and into the bridge proper. As the Klingon and the Acting CO moved themselves out of the computer bank, the worried Deputy Communications Chief delivered her most foreboding bit of news. "Sir, Angela also said that the anti-matter containment fields are fading much faster than the ship's internal sensors had indicated..."

Everyone stopped moving, stopped breathing—not wishing to acknowledge the finale that now seemed probable. The evacuation fleet could never move fast enough to reach a minimum safe distance from the _Viking_ before the anti-matter was freed and met the matter surrounding it. The resulting explosion would easily engulf the slow, fleeing escape ships.

This was not the time to dwell on possibilities; now was the time for action, swift action.

Gosnell worked well under pressure, fear and deadlines—thankfully. "Let's get the Captain out of here." As he spoke, he began moving toward the air lock turbolift. "Rebecca, tell the fleet to begin moving away as quickly as possible. We can't ask them to wait for us to catch up."

"And," he continued, as she began relaying his instructions through her communicator, "tell Angela to begin prepping the engines for remote activation."

Moving quickly and silently, save the relay of orders, the last of the _Viking_'s residents boarded the escape shuttle. First aboard were Lieutenants Robinson and Self, joining the helmsman, the navigator and Communication Chief already there. The second trip through the turbolift carried Gosnell, the Klingon and the photorp tube to a chilling revelation.

As they transferred the tube into the evac craft, its large size became fatally evident. With the Ops and Security Chiefs pushing from the outside and the remainder of the bridge crew pulling from within, the cumbersome tube finally squeezed through the airlock. However, once inside, it left room for only one more occupant.

At this moment the true price of command became perfectly clear to Lieutenant Commander Ed Gosnell. There was no decision to be made in this dilemma, only an order to be given.

"Mr. Kraal," he instructed calmly, "board the shuttle."

The Klingon began to protest, but was drowned out almost immediately by the fully confident voice of the _Viking_'s Acting Commanding Officer. "That's an order, Lieutenant. Get Aboard."

As Gosnell continued with his instructions, the Klingon quietly moved onto the shuttle and leaned toward the pilot. "I'll use the transporter to beam out to one of the other shuttles that has more room."

"But, sir, the computer…" objected the Science Chief. Behind him, the shuttle pilot passed something, reluctantly, to the Klingon speaking quietly to him.

"A chance I have to take, David."

The Klingon covertly slid his hand behind his back and began moving back toward his superior.

"Tell Mr. Steedley to remote engage the warp drive and move the ship away from the evacuation fleet."

Closer.

"Hopefully she can get it far enough away before, …before the reactor fails."

Closer.

"Now, go. You don't have much time."

There. "Commander," the Security Chief drew himself up to his full height, nearly two meters. He saluted as he spoke, "Success!"

"To us all," answered Gosnell, returning the action.

As he did so, the Klingon also acted. With lightning speed he brought his other hand from behind his back, fired the phaser and caught the human as he fell. Before the other officers could react, he carefully laid the stunned Operations Chief inside the shuttle, saying, "It is a good day to die, Commander…"

"…for me, not you," he added, and sealed the airlock. He lingered there for a moment before moving back toward the bridge.

* * *

On cue, the shuttle pilot detached his ship from the larger vessel and moved it toward the withdrawing cloud of escape vessels. His tiny craft was silent, its passengers too involved in their thoughts and emotions to argue or question.

So involved, in fact, that none of them noticed the growing distortion in the starfield that bore down on their friend and home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Like So Many Memories**

**by mirwalker**

_A/N: Translations from Klingon are punctuated with brackets._

* * *

The distortion, like a ripple in the sea of stars, rolled ever closer to the space-sailing vessel. Only, unlike its liquid counterpart, this wave showed no sign of dissipating as it traveled on. Nor any sign of slowing. Nor of turning aside. It bore down intently on the all-but-empty Federation ship.

Engineers would contend that sophisticated propulsion systems moved the hidden battleship towards its target. Anyone on board, however, would argue that the sheer will of its captain drove the _K'Tahdin _forward. Volkarr's every attention was focused on the grey shape growing larger on the viewscreen. He had taken little notice of the multiple small ships hurriedly distancing themselves from the _Viking_; and had left K'Dar to jamming their distress calls and assigning each a firing priority herself. Nothing mattered to him but the life for which he hungered.

K'Dar knew this all too well. She knew that it was on her shoulders to coordinate the destruction or capture of the ships and personnel who did not interest her lord; she left the epetai to his anticipation and busied herself with the preparations for battle.

Both, however, noticed the single shuttle that launched from the rear of the _Viking_ 's bridge and struggled desperately to catch up to the other fleeing ships. Both instantly deduced that this was the command shuttle, carrying the senior officers to safety. Safety from the _Viking_ that is, thought the Klingon commanders. Kraal would be on that ship.

K'Dar anticipated the order which quickly came. "[Alter course; target the lone shuttle.]" As he spoke, the image on the viewer switched to a graphic representation of the Federation ships ahead, with a glowing red circle atop the command ship. There the weapons-lock waited for the two-step order that would leave it floating in front of a ball of expanding, burning matter and energy.

The first half of that order came, none too soon for its giver: "[Disengage cloaking device!]"

* * *

Deep within the crippled _Viking_ a solitary figure typed feverishly on the transporter console before him. Knowing that his life literally depended on his speed and skill here, he easily focused his every attention on the task before him.

"Command shuttle, this is Kraal," he said, thumbing the communicator on his belt. "I have located an opening on the medical shuttle; and am preparing to transport. Have them hold their present course and speed."

"We've relayed the order, Kraal," answered Chief Engineer Steedley, breaking into the channel from her own craft. "But it would be much safer for you if they stopped moving completely. You'll have enough trouble with the transporter computer as it is…"

"Keep the med shuttle running; I'll make it. You, Mr. Steedley, had best get the _Viking_ 's engines started --give me a sixty second delay to get clear."

"Countdown starting now. Hurry, Kraal, I doubt I'll be able to stop it now; you don't have… Oh my gods!" Her voice trailed off in a burst of squelch and static.

The ship's computer, even its present condition, also detected the source of the Engineer's terror. It announced in a faint, warbled cry, "Warning! …ning! Klingon battlesh… decloaking, bear… -four-eight mark…"

Immediately, its weak voice was drowned out by an all too powerful one from deep in Kraal's past. "[Kraal, it has been too long… Fortunately, I intend this meeting to more than make up for lost time.]" The evil chortle which followed through the communicator was equally as encouraging.

"Volkarr!" exclaimed Kraal, realizing the depth of the danger in which he and his crewmates were. Somewhat stunned by the sudden appearance of this enemy from long ago, he almost didn't notice the priority alert which scrolled across the console before him: "WARNING …WARP CORE BREACH IN FIFTY SECONDS… WARNING…"

"[Don't take it so hard, Kraal,]" continued the eager epetai. "[Think of it this way: my finding you on your ship has delayed the deaths of your shipmates, at least for a little while. Ha, ha, ha.]"

The _Viking _Security Chief knew that escaping to the evacuation fleet would then only further endanger himself and his friends. Volkarr had to be dealt with, at least stalled until help arrived—if it were going to. But time was running out all around him; he had to work quickly. "[If it's me you want, Volkarr, you'll have to come here and get me.]"

"[To quote your human bedfellows,]" came the response, "fat chance!" Chuckle; chuckle. "[I know the condition of your ship. I expected the Demon device to do as much. No, you will come to me… where it's `safe'.]" Another thunder of laughter, followed by a faint order to lock on transporters.

Kraal heard the dull rumble of ailing engines far below him. He was out of options, and more importantly, out of time. "It is a good day to die…"

* * *

The image on the viewer before K'Dar wavered for an instant, then blurred into colorful streak of warped light leading off into the darkness of space. Seconds after the _Viking _was swallowed by the starfield, there was a blinding explosion—that dissipated slowly, spreading sparkling flecks of light outward in slim bands and rays. These miniature stars faded quickly, twinkling as they died, like so many memories of their more tactile past.

In that finale, Kraal had escaped the _K'Tahdin_'s master; and K'Dar knew there would be hell to pay. She watched the glow from the viewer ebb from the Admiral's face. It seemed to steal the life from him as it fled away. For a moment, he stared blankly at the screen—not blinking, not breathing.

His eventual response was as vehement as it was sudden. "[Damn him! Damn them all! KRAAL!!!]"

* * *

"Kraal!" screamed Chief Engineer Steedley as she watched the matter/anti-matter detonation fade. "Bob," she cried, stabbing at the intercom to the Medical Officer's shuttle. "Do you have him?"

"No," came the dry response, "I don't think he made it."

Angela knew she heard a tear fall before the channel closed. Whether it was his or hers she did not know. It didn't matter.

* * *

The alert lighting which filled the command shuttle cancelled all thoughts of grief from its occupants. "Klingon battleship is turning this way; weapons are armed!" shouted the pilot. "And we're first in line!"

"We're sitting ducks," stated Science Officer Robinson from beside the still-sleeping Captain. His pessimism stemmed not from cowardice, but from calm acceptance of the obvious inevitable.

Before anyone could argue or agree, however, that grim certainty shrank to a mere possibility: the shuttle's communication console emitted a stream of new hope, "_Viking_ evacuation fleet, this is the _USS Rocinante_. We have you and your `friend' on visual; commence evasive action and standby."

* * *

"Klingon battleship, this is the _USS Rocinante_. You are in flagrant violation of Federation space. Surrender and prepare to be boarded."

K'Dar looked to her captain, knowing his answer but not his response, not in his present state of mind. On the viewer before them both, the _Northampton_ Class frigate was nowhere to be seen, but was definitely approaching in the distant background. Closer to them, still fleeing, was the _Viking_command shuttle—taunting both Klingons to fire on it now.

Neither could resist. As Volkarr spoke, K'Dar obeyed. The Klingon torpedo charged from its launch tube on the _K'Tahdin_'s bow—viciously intent on reaching and destroying the command shuttle, that had just succeeded in reaching the near edge of the evacuation fleet.

The Klingon volley was not fast enough, however, to completely escape its counterpart from the suddenly present Federation frigate. The _Rocinante_'s counter-torpedo grazed the enemy weapon's side, throwing it slightly off course before impacting its mother ship.

The Klingon torpedo's navigation computer, disoriented by the near collision, struggled to return to its correct course. Again perhaps, it was the sheer will of the Klingon Admiral which drove it to seek an enemy, any enemy's life to the last—for it managed to broadside a _Viking_ travel pod at one side of the Command Shuttle.

* * *

Seeing the subsequent explosion was all the reward that Volkarr could reap from this battle --the _Rocinante_ continued to batter his own ship with torpedo salvos and surrender instructions.

"[Another time, another place: another outcome!\" swore Klingon Force Admiral Kaa'Rach epetai-Volkarr as he and his ship turned and withdrew from the fray.

K'Dar noted that far across the border, waiting there within the Empire, were the Imperial ships sent to capture her own vessel at all costs. "[My lord will not be without additional victims this day,]" she thought confidently, and put aside thoughts of escaped prey for another time.

* * *

Several days later, the crew of the late _USS __Viking _gathered in the Starbase's assembly hall. Rested and somewhat recovered from their recent experience, they came together to pay tribute to their shipmates who were not present. At the front of the room, on its raised speaker's platform, stood holographic images of their fallen friends; and behind those dozen frozen figures floated a projection of their ship. The crew stood in reflective silence, waiting for the memorial service to begin.

Finally, after several minutes of quiet meditation, Captain Adam Fletcher stepped onto the dais and addressed his crew. "My friends, due to circumstances of which you are all aware, I think it most appropriate for Lieutenant Commander Gosnell to speak on this occasion. I hope to see you all on the _Citadel_**.**"

Ed Gosnell, last Acting Commanding Officer of the _Viking_ and the current Chief of Operations of the newly staffed cruiser _Citadel_, slowly climbed to the stage and paused before beginning. "I must admit that I am little-practiced in giving memorial elegies; and am thankful that I have not had the opportunity, until now, to gain such experience." He hesitated, then stepped reverently to the side of the likeness of Lieutenant Kraal epetai-Pallara. "I do feel honored, however, that my first, of hopefully few, such times is for so fine a group of officers," motioning to the figures around him as he spoke.

"Anything that I might say here about them would be gross understatement. There are no words…" He stopped before his voice gave out on its own. Taking a moment to gather himself, he continued, "We each have our own fond memories of our colleagues and friends. And it is those cherished recollections that I want us to evoke this afternoon –each in our own way."

His wet, but controlled eyes swept the room, landing finally on the young Klingon Korrd, whom Gosnell knew was straining equally as hard to restrain his emotion. Turning slightly, he gazed at the stoic mirage beside him. "Our shipmates would not, however, want us to dwell entirely on the past; but would wish us to move forward—carrying the best of them with us.

"Let us then take one last look back before continuing on our way." He hung his head and closed his eyes, clasping his hands loosely behind him. Many of the crew joined him in this final salute and goodbye. Others gazed respectfully at the three dimensional pictures surrounding the silent Gosnell.

After several minutes of reflection, Gosnell slowly moved to one end of the line of image projectors. Pausing briefly at each effigy, he moved down the row, shutting down the holo-generator for each officer.

The last of the portraits was the Klingon Security Chief. Here Gosnell stayed a moment, allowing several tears to slip down his face. He whispered to his friend, "It was a good day to die;" and then deactivated the apparition before him.

Turning finally to the rear of the stage, he quietly terminated his final viewing of the _Viking_. As the hologram evaporated into a mist of glowing points, he passed his hand through the vanishing cloud—but failed to catch a single, twinkling remnant.

Nothing remained but the memories.

* * *

The huge Klingon battleship hung motionless in space; its attention entirely focused on the memory of the Federation _Pleiades_ Class survey ship which had just escaped destruction at its hands.

Deep within its labyrinth of dark corridors, a stoic figure twinkled into being. Quickly sliding into the shadows, it spoke to absent ears: "…for you, Volkarr, not me,"—and was gone.


End file.
